


put your petals in my mouth

by Red (S_Hylor)



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love, mentions of saliva, mentions of vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/Red
Summary: “Have you even tried talking to her?” He asks one night, staring at the splatter of colourful petals on the floor that Tony didn’t catch in time.Tony coughs again, then forces another to try and clear his throat. “You worry too much, darling.”---Or the time that heartbreak is going to kill Tony quicker than the cancer is.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 44
Kudos: 284
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	put your petals in my mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [Put your petals in my mouth | Đặt cánh hoa của người vào miệng tôi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197993) by Anonymous 



> Written for my Stony Bingo Round 1 2020 card square "Prayer".
> 
> Title is a lyric from the AFI song Pink Eyes. That line is entirely responsible for this story. 
> 
> Thanks to [quandong_crumble](http://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/pseuds/quandong_crumble) for the beta work.

If he wasn’t so used to seeing Tony indisposed from his medication, Steve wonders if he would have even noticed it. If he hadn’t been there on multiple occasions, offerings Tony water, or a damp cloth after he finished vomiting, Steve thinks he might have politely looked away when Tony coughed so hard he gagged after the rest of the Ultimates filtered out of the meeting room. 

Except they’ve sort of moved beyond offering each other that modicum of privacy, and he sees the petals, soggy with saliva and crumpled in Tony’s hand. 

He sees them, the mass of crushed, pinkish petals, and he knows that Tony sees him notice them. Tony gives him a tired, sheepish sort of smile, worn around the edges and not reaching his eyes. 

“Guess there’s no chance you’ll pretend you didn’t see that?” Tony asks as he scrapes the petals off his hand with his handkerchief, depositing them in the waste paper basket in the meeting room. 

Steve feels a sense of cold dread slide down his throat and settle hard like ice in his stomach, and at the same time his neck and ears burn with righteous anger. It’s not fair. Tony has suffered so much already, he’s already battling a brain tumour, and the bottle. It doesn’t seem fair at all that he’s also been afflicted by unrequited love. “Who is she?” 

He hears the unbridled anger in his own voice, but Tony doesn’t flinch, he merely gives Steve a sad smile and waves off his concern. 

“Don’t you worry, darling. I’ve got this under control too.” Tony reassures him as he leaves the meeting room, leaving Steve feeling like his world is being ripped away from him again. 

He wants to find the woman Tony loves and shake her until she sees sense to love Tony in return. 

—

Steve doesn’t believe for a second that Tony has his Hanahaki case under control. He watches him more closely than before, and not once does he see Tony attempting to woo the woman he loves. Not once does he see Tony making visits to the doctor to organise a cure. 

There is a cure now. Something that hadn’t been around when Steve was growing up. Or even during the war. He had seen too many good men lose their health and cough up lungfuls of petals when the dames they loved back home stopped writing to them.

Too many soldiers that died when they shouldn’t have. 

It didn’t affect everyone. Of course Tony would be unlucky enough to develop the physical symptoms of heart sickness. 

Steve just can’t stand the idea of losing Tony the same way he lost men in the war. 

—

Tony starts wasting away, the heartsickness is killing him quicker than the cancer. Steve sees it in the gauntness of his face, the frailty of his smiles when he tries to reassure Steve he’s fine. He feels it in the loss of weight and muscle mass when he grips Tony’s shoulders and has to force himself not to shake sense into Tony. 

“Have you even tried talking to her?” He asks one night, staring at the splatter of colourful petals on the floor that Tony didn’t catch in time. 

Tony coughs again, then forces another to try and clear his throat. “You worry too much, darling.” 

Steve looks up from where he’s crouched on the floor, picking up the petals. Tony gives him a forced smile as he approaches with a rubbish bag in hand. Steve drops the handful of petals into the plastic, watching them clump together, indecipherable. He knows that the different petals are meant to have different meanings, but he’s never bothered to look into it. 

“Of course I worry,” he snaps, harsher than he means to, standing up and staring at Tony intently. “You’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you.” 

Tony watches him carefully with a pinched expression for a moment, then reaches out and squeezes Steve’s bicep. “I’ll talk to them.” 

Steve lets the subject drop as they eat dinner together, watching Tony carefully to make sure he’s eating more than he’s drinking. 

It’s not until he’s walking home that night that he realises Tony said  _ them _ and not  _ her. _

The word twists something uncomfortably in his stomach, but he tells himself that Tony’s his best friend, and it doesn’t matter who he loves. He just wants Tony to get better. 

—

Tony looks worse the next time he sees him, thin and worn as he steps out of the suit after a battle not even a week later. The green goo from the suit is thicker across his skin, having to fill in more space between him and the armour, and Steve wants to demand to know who the man is that Tony loves, because he wants to punch his teeth in for doing this to his friend. 

Tony catches him looking, sees the angry concern in his face and offers a wan smile in response, before he starts coughing and turns away, to brace himself against the wall. 

After they’ve showered and dressed back in civilian clothes, Steve finds Tony sitting in the kitchen, staring at a mug of coffee. From the smell of it, Steve suspects that it is strongly laced with something else. 

“You should tell him.” Steve says in lieu of a greeting, his voice grating with pent up concern and anger at the unknown person who would be stupid enough to turn down Tony Stark. 

Tony shifts his gaze to stare blankly at Steve, mind obviously a million miles away. He blinks and shakes his head. “How’d you figure it out, darling?” 

Steve shrugs. “You said them, last time. Figured you’d be up front about it if it was a dame.” 

Tony nods, lifts his coffee and takes a sip, then holds it in front of him like it’s some kind of a buffer. “That doesn’t bother you?” 

Tony sounds more cautious and worried than Steve’s ever heard him.  _ He’s worried you’ll hate him, _ Steve thinks, that same uncomfortable twisting sensation settling in his stomach. He forces himself to shake his head, even though he feels a little like he’s lying. “It’s not my business who you love. I just want you to get better.” 

Tony stares at him for a long time, like he’s waiting for Steve to say something else, like he’s waiting for the anger and the hatred and the yelling to come, but Steve just clenches his jaw and stares back. Challenging Tony to believe him. 

In the end Tony looks away, coughing weakly. “It  _ is  _ your business though, darling.” 

The silence stretches out, wrapping around the kitchen, spreading into every crack and crevice, and Steve feels the sickening twist in his stomach churn into a horrible roil. He knows what Tony is going to say before he even says it. Pleads with him silently not to say it. Would rather throw himself onto another bomb than hear Tony say it. 

“Because it’s you, darling.” Tony admits, quietly. Defeatedly. Breaking the silence into a thousand pieces. 

The words feel like a punch, even though Steve knew they were coming. 

He turns and leaves. 

Behind him he hears Tony coughing. The sound echoes in his mind the whole run back to his apartment. 

—

He doesn’t give himself a day to think about it. He doesn’t even give himself twelve hours. From his apartment he goes to the gym and wrecks five punching bags, breaks his knuckles open and stares at the blood on his hands. 

He stares. How many people does he have to let down? If he does nothing, he’ll have Tony’s blood on his hands too, as sure as if he beat him to death. 

When he leaves the gym he turns towards Tony’s place, instead of his own. 

Tony answers the door when he knocks, looking tired and thin, his robe hanging off his shoulders. 

Steve stares dumbly at him for a moment, he’s not sure why he expected anyone else to answer Tony’s door this late at night, but he had thought he’d have another moment to compose himself. 

“I’m sorry, darling.” Tony whispers, all his usual bravado and cockiness absent. “I shouldn’t have dumped that on you and expected any different.” 

“Shut up.” Steve hears himself growl, and then he’s stepping forward, gripping the front of Tony’s robe and pulling him closer. He leans in, presses his lips against Tony’s too roughly, no finesse. He hears Tony huff out a surprised breath, feels him tense and then soften against him. 

Then Tony’s kissing him, leading the exchange, hands settling on the side of Steve’s face, against his neck, turning the kiss soft and slick. And for a moment Steve lets himself hope. Prays that it is enough. Begs God to let it be enough. 

But he can feel that cold twist in his stomach, ice and dread and anger at himself, because he feels nothing. 

Tony pulls away sharply, body convulsing as he coughs, hacking up petals that spill between them. 

Steve stares down at the petals that cling to his hands that are still curled around the front of Tony’s robe. “I’m sorry.” 

His voice sounds broken, terrible, full of anguish. “I’m sorry.” 

He repeats the phrase, clinging to Tony. Feels Tony’s hand stroking comfortingly through his hair as he tips forward, pressing his forehead against Tony’s chest, where he can hear the petals rattling around his lungs. 

“It’s okay darling.” Tony reassures him, though Steve knows it’s a lie. 

Nothing is okay. Tony is his best friend, one of the few people he cares about in this god awful future. 

And it still isn’t enough. 

—

Weeks later Tony is recovering well from his surgery. He looks healthier, the colour coming back to his skin, and regaining some of the weight he’d lost. There’s still evidence of his ordeal, but it gets easier for Steve to look at him without feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. 

He’d almost killed his best friend. Almost killed him because he couldn’t care about him enough. 

So Steve’s happy that Tony is looking better, that he’s looking happy. They’re at a benefit and Tony is back to flirting with everyone who gives him the time of day. 

Everyone, that is, except Steve. 

He had wanted Tony to get better, to not waste away slowly as the petals filled his lungs. He just hadn’t anticipated what it would mean. That the affection would disappear from Tony’s eyes when he looked at Steve now. That the casual touches would disappear, and that he’d never hear Tony call him terms of endearment like  _ darling _ ever again. 

It felt like someone had opened a chasm in his chest, pulling out something vital and important he isn’t sure he can live without. 

He takes a sip of the drink in his hand, trying to suppress the tickle in his throat, watching as Tony laughs and flirts with some pretty young thing only a few metres away. 

When that doesn’t work, he clears his throat, wincing when it turns into a cough and he feels something dislodge in his chest. He coughs again, turning away from the crowd and retching slightly as he tastes something perfumy in his mouth. He spits it out into his hand, knowing what it is even before he looks. 

A delicate array of crumpled cherry blossom petals scatter across his palm. 

He doesn’t know what they signify, as far as the proper flower meaning goes, but he knows what they mean to him. The cherry tree in the front yard of the house he never got to live in with Gail. A sign of a life and love that, through his own decisions and actions, he’s managed to lose. 

If only he’d managed to realise just how much Tony has meant to him before it was too late. 

A hand falls on his shoulder, and Steve curls his hand to a fist, hiding the petals away from sight, stuffing his hand in his pocket as he turns. 

Tony stands there, brow creased with concern. “You okay, Rogers?” 

The lack of endearment makes his chest ache and the petals tickle his throat. Steve tries to force a convincing smile. “I’m fine, Tony.” 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
